


Only Forever

by ama



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2033457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This might be the best moment of Runner's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I was looking at vintage photos of gay couples in uniform (they would so totally have one) and cooking myself some chicken. And I only finished TP about 24 hours ago, which I think makes a personal record.

This might be the best moment of his life.

It's a late summer evening. Through the open windows he can hear the low, whooping calls of the mourning doves and the distant rumble of rush hour traffic. Closer, just through the next room, Chuckler is singing a tuneless rendition of "Only Forever," which Runner thinks he might like even better than Bing Crosby's version, because Bing's smile has got nothing on Lew's.

He takes a sip from his beer and strains the water from a pot of steamed broccoli. Supper's almost ready; he's already put the mashed potatoes in a bowl, Chuckler brought home donuts for dessert, and now he's just waiting on the chicken. The oil snaps and snarls, and when he takes a fork to the chicken breasts, he feels little drops pinging off the pan like ashes off a fire. He snatches his hand back with a muttered curse and steps away from the stove. The chicken was still white on the bottom anyway, and a watched pot never boils so he might as well direct his attention elsewhere.

So Runner leans against the kitchen counter and thinks on the chores that he has to do that weekend. On Saturday they're going to work in the garden, and on Sunday he has to babysit his nieces; he's really looking forward to that, because he thinks he's a damn good uncle and the girls _love_ Chuckler. It'll be a nice day. He also has to do laundry, but he puts that out of his mind because it's ruining the absolute perfection of this moment.

Just as he thinks that, though, Chuckler comes up to help balance the threat of laundry. He leans against the counter, too, and wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses the side of his head.

"The chicken's gonna burn," he mutters.

"Ungrateful bastard. It's fine."

"Nuh uh," Lew says, teasing, and his arm tightens its grip as his mouth kisses down Runner's cheek and jaw. "First you steal my shirt, then you burn my chicken."

Runner glances down at his shirt. It is Chuckler's--one of the PT shirts that he sleeps in sometimes. When he got home this afternoon he had just stripped out of his work clothes and thrown on the first thing he found on the ground. It is loose and comfortable and it smells like sleep.

"We tried letting you cook, remember? 'Bout three years ago?"

"Maybe I've improved."

"Maybe you outta shut up and be grateful that I'm slaving over a hot stove..."

He trails off with a grin as Chuckler starts shaking with laughter, and then he mutters "get down here," and manhandles Chuckler into a kiss.

This is his house, which he owns, just a stone's throw away from his family and a few hours' drive away from most of his friends. There's a car in the driveway, a radio in the living room, a comfortable bed that smells like sex and warm nights in the bedroom, a picture of himself and his one true love wearing their dress blues on the mantle. Lew's curls are soft beneath his hands.

This is the best moment of his life.

(The chicken burns. He blames Chuckler.)


End file.
